You Can’t Buy Time
A greedy king of untold wealth
who lived alone - kept to himself -
collected clocks of every kind
inside his castle, so refined.
He spent his money left and right
indulging in his own delight
but never lent a helping hand
to those misfortuned in his land.
He wound each timepiece day and night
and rarely saw the morning light.
There in his safe and comfy shell,
he lived his life and lived it well.
The seasons passed within those walls -
the springs, the summers, and the falls.
The king, surrounded by his court
of clocks, inside his self-made fort.
He placed each clock upon a shelf
then madly giggled to himself;
he’d search his realm, buy every one;
he’d own all time when he was done!
Beyond those ramparts, life went on
for every peasant, knight, and pawn;
A drought sprung up across the land
that turned once fertile ground to sand.
The cattle starved. The crops all died.
Men passed too young; their widows cried.
The death count rose beyond compare
and yet the king was unaware.
Soon one by one his kingdoms fell
beyond his self-indulgent cell.
And as men do, the king grew old
surrounded by his wealth of gold.
He felt the weathered hand of time.
He heard the clicks, the tolling chime,
of each and every worn out clock -
that never ending ‘tick’ then ‘tock’.
Within his fold, he now grew bored
with clocks that spoke in just one chord
and longed to hear human refrains -
But, sadly, no one else remained.
As years passed on, each clock wore out
till soon the king was left without
even their dull relentless ticks
within his solitude of bricks.
The great king ended out his life
devoid of children, friends or wife.
The moral to this simple rhyme -
No matter what, you can’t buy time.